


A Wyrm Among Scarabs

by R_Black



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: He's an asshole, Implied Cannibalism, also Ogrim needs more fandom love, and thinking up some cool ideas for a scarab kingdom, because he certainly didn't get any real love from PK, because the pale king is not nice, it was fun exploring his character through this, sadistic pale king anyone?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 16:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18237683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Black/pseuds/R_Black
Summary: The Pale King travels to a distant kingdom in search of one more knight to fill out his Pale Guard. He finds a suitable candidate in the dung beetle Ogrim, personal guard to the Pharaoh Khepri.





	A Wyrm Among Scarabs

The land was devastatingly arid here.

The Pale King did not appreciate the lack of water, the shifting sand dunes, or the unbearable heat. As a Wyrm—even one such as he who had shed his large skin—he had more of an affinity for the wet, damp grounds of his homeland.

But he had to come here. He needed champions. Symbols of peace to calm the denizens of Hallownest, and to take care of any who dared try to usurp him. He had collected three already, and his Queen had her own knight, but he needed one more.

Two of his three chosen knights came from other kingdoms; Isma from a lush jungle area and Ze’mer from a beautiful land with flowers that grew so high they were their own forests. And Hegemol, the King’s greatest knight, born right in Hallownest.

But something told the King that he’d find a worthy, final knight right here in this desert wasteland named Shabaka. So, here he was, carried through the disgusting heat and sand via his palanquin. The two stags that shared the burden of the palanquin panted as they trudged along.

The stags were the only living creatures that could accompany the King on these excursions. The rest of his escort party was entirely made up of Kingsmoulds and Wingmoulds, at his insistence. The moulds could not feel the heat, nor could they care about the shifting ground beneath them. They were tireless. They were mute. They were the perfect guards.

His palanquin halted. The King swept a linen curtain aside to view his surroundings.

A tiny beetle stood in front of his escort, their shell quivering. They wore a simple white kilt, somehow comfortable in this truly insufferable heat.

“Welcome to Shabaka, honored guest,” the bug called out. “The Pharaoh welcomes all visitors, and would request an audience with the bug whose escort is so grand.”

The Pale King waved his hand, acquiescing. The signal made the servant bug turn on one foot to guide the escort to the Palace. The King had no interest in the journey through the capital city, nor did he care about the common citizens no doubt circling his palanquin in wonder. He closed his curtain and allowed his stags to follow the servant.

The curtain not only allowed him to stay hidden from lower-class eyes, it also helped mask the odor slowly increasing as he journeyed further into the kingdom. Because, of course, this kingdom’s greatest trade was in _dung_. He remembered coming across the stuff as a great Wyrm. While bugs excreted little, there were creatures far greater in size than he could ever reach. And they created the largest, most disgusting dung imaginable.

Soon enough, the palanquin halted once more. One of the stags cleared his throat and cried, “Announcing His Royal Highness, the Pale King of Hallownest!”

The Pale King finally stood as his curtains were opened by two of his Wingmoulds. He held his head high, striding down the small steps and onto an ornate marble floor. He surveyed his surroundings, taking in the grand pillars, the delicate carvings on the walls, the silks and linens strewn everywhere. Giant blue beetles lined the hall, armed with great nails and spears.

At the end of the room, atop a golden throne, surrounded by large carvings made of… _dung_ …sat a large rainbow scarab. The scarab wore an intricate gold headdress, jewelry that shone as beautifully as his prismatic shell, and a linen robe that left little to the imagination. A single, giant horn protruded from his head, also adorned with gold and opals.

Next to him stood a single guard, wearing a similar robe to the beetles lining the rest of the room, but with no spear or nail in his claws. He was massive, round, and imposing—almost as much as Hegemol on all three counts. And that made him a good candidate for knighthood.

The Pale King nodded his head, not breaking eye contact with the ruler of Shabaka, who nodded back slowly.

Eventually, the ruler of Shabaka spoke: “We, Pharaoh Khepri of Shabaka, have heard of the might of Hallownest, whose citizens have cast aside one god for another. And we would ask what the king god himself is doing so far from his nest of lies and betrayal?”

The king did not flinch at the pharaoh’s words. He’d come across similar in the other kingdoms. But he didn’t care for the opinion of _other_ kingdoms. All that mattered was the safety and protection of his own.

“Pharaoh Khepri,” he began. “We have journeyed far and wide, through lush jungles and flower forests, from a city drenched in rain to this dry desert. We seek a warrior of great caliber to stand at our side. We seek a knight.”

Khepri gestured to his hall guards. “Take any you like. Our guards are well-trained and unmatched by any other in the kingdom.”

“And what of your personal guard,” the Pale King questioned. “One would assume _he_ is the best if he stands so close to the Ki—Pharaoh.”

The guard in question blinked, then lowered his head as if embarrassed at the attention. Khepri huffed, “Our personal guard is Ogrim, who has served us since birth. And he shall serve us until our death, as our predecessor’s guard did before him, and as our heir’s will after.”

The Pale King nodded, keeping his eyes on Ogrim. He wanted that beetle. The loyalty he possessed would be as great as his strength, no doubt. But he would need to rid the guardian of his charge before offering a change in station…

* * *

The day had been filled with feasts and tiring royal speak about what qualifications the Pale King was looking for in his knights. The food provided was decent, if not foul-smelling due to its constant vicinity to dung. The King would be glad to be rid of this kingdom sooner rather than later.

That night, he approached one of the beetle guards outside his guest room. “Guard, enter our quarters. We wish to speak with you.”

The beetle, flustered and understandably confused, did as ordered. The king closed the door behind them.

“Tell me,” the Pale King said, dropping the façade of the royal ‘we’. “Your traditions are a…little confusing to me. What keeps Ogrim in that position?”

The guard blinked. “Um…well, Your Highness…Ogrim is the Pharaoh’s personal guard. He was chosen at birth to forever be at the Pharaoh’s side.”

“Would he ever betray his master?”

“No! No, no, Ogrim is extremely loyal to the Pharaoh. It is instilled within him to be loyal until his last breath. No matter what, he will always do the Pharaoh’s will, and will stay by his side as he lives.”

“And, what would warrant him leaving that side?”

“The, uh…” The beetle trailed off, unsure.

The Pale King gave his best smile. “You can tell me, good soldier. I am only curious.”

“The death of our Pharaoh would certainly retire Ogrim.”

“But not kill him? Would the death of the master not mean the death of the servant?”

“No, Your Highness. After the Pharaoh has produced an heir, the servant does not need to die for allowing their master to pass. They—Ogrim—can retire in peace.”

“And do what, exactly?”

The guard shrugged. “A humble guard such as I could never truly know. The Pharaoh’s Guard is given freedom. To roam or stay, I suppose, is their choice.”

“Excellent.” The Pale King put a finger to his chin. “You know, I do have one favor to ask of you. Bring in that other guard. They need to hear what I request as well.”

The second guard stationed outside his door entered. He locked the door at the King’s command.

* * *

Minutes later, the Pale King unlocked his room and had his Wingmoulds discreetly throw away the armor and nails of the guards.

He burped, content with the meal he’d just eaten. Maggots were fine and dandy for snacks, but no matter his size, he was still a Wyrm. And Wyrms needed something much larger and…tougher to chew. And he had been famished since entering this blasted desert. He’d deserved a midnight snack or two, no matter how _dung-flavored_ they were.

* * *

The next day, the Pale King bade the Khepri a temporary farewell.

“You would leave us so soon?” the Pharaoh asked.

“It is truly embarrassing, but we seem to have left our peace offering back in Hallownest,” the king admitted. “We give one to all rulers in the lands we visit, and we are loathed to admit we had forgotten it in our haste to come here.”

Khepri nodded. “It is understandable and forgivable. After all, you have been a most kind and gracious guest.”

“And you, a charitable host. Alas, we must away for a brief time. We shall return in a week’s time with our gift.”

“And we shall look into bringing forward candidates for your knights in your absence.”

The king tilted his head. “You need not do that, Pharaoh. We could surely find a suitable knight upon our return.”

“Nonsense,” Khepri said with a wave of his claw. “We have many guards to spare to such a noble cause as yours. One of our best would fit right in with your court, one would hope.”

The Pale King spared a glance at Ogrim, silent but watchful. “One would hope…”

* * *

 

Three days later, the Pale King sat on the edge of Shabaka, inside his shady palanquin. His stags grazed nearby, content at resting in a peaceful oasis out of the searing heat of the desert just a mile away.

The king fanned himself with one of his shed scales, which had been inside the palanquin all along. He had been truthful that he’d given a peace offering to every ruler he visited, but he had certainly not _forgotten_ this one. No, he just needed an alibi. An excuse to get out of the kingdom.

Out of his entire escort, only one Kingsmould looked to be slouching on the job. While the others stood straight and unmoving, one was lying precariously against one of the boulders surrounding their oasis, its shell open and hollow.

This far from the Abyss, the Void was much more manageable without the need for shells. The Pale King had needed something fast. Something undetectable. Something…truly unimaginable for his hidden purpose. He trusted the piece of the Void would return to the Kingsmould of its own volition. And if it didn’t? No shell off his back; it would just be another _wonder of the world_. A mystery creature to the kingdom of Shabaka for all time.

Lo and behold, before his very eyes, the Void had returned to its shell with no problems. The Kingsmould straightened, then rejoined the ranks seamlessly. No fuss. No report.

The Pale King waved his hand and a Wingmould appeared with his lunch. He would wait here for one more day before returning to the wasteland that dared call itself a kingdom.

* * *

The Pale King’s palanquin returned with no escort at the end of the week. There was no servant this time. The citizens did not gather around his entourage in wonder. And, bless, the smell had died down a little since last he came.

Soon, his palanquin came to a halt, and the curtains were swept back without fanfare. The Pale King stepped out with the shed scale of his former shell in hand.

“Oh, dear,” he gasped. “Whatever happened here?”

The entire kingdom of beetles were gathered at the base of a great pyramid of dried (and thankfully unscented by this point) dung, all of them either silent or sobbing. At the head of the crowd was a golden sarcophagus, where two scarabs were performing last rites. A young rainbow scarab—now wearing the jeweled headdress Khepri had worn just a week prior—was trying his best to not cry. A beetle much like Ogrim stood at his side, looking forlorn. Ogrim himself stood just beyond the golden sarcophagus, holding something in his claws.

The Pale King watched as the shaman scarabs finished their rites. Ogrim stepped forward to place a rainbow jewel—an opal—into a slot on top of the sarcophagus before funeral bearers took the casket deep into the pyramid.  The entire population was silent as minutes passed. When the bearers came back up, empty-handed, the entrance was sealed.

After a few more minutes of mourning, one of the shaman scarabs finally noticed the presence of the Pale King and his escort. He whispered something into the young rainbow scarab’s ear.

“Uh. I—wait— _We_ would ask the crowd to part for…our guest, the Pale King of Hallownest,” the young scarab stammered.

The crowd parted as ordered. The Pale King strode slowly up the makeshift aisle to the base of the pyramid. Oh, the dung pyramid actually did have a scent up close. He tried not to gag.

The king looked down upon the small bug. “We are regretful to have come at a time of great mourning. Tell us, was it your mother, young one, who perished? Perhaps a sibling?”

“Our father,” the scarab answered. “Late Pharaoh Khepri, who now has begun his journey into the afterlife. He has left us a heavy burden, but we will carry it proudly.”

The Pale King bowed his head in respect. “What a tragedy,” he said, trying to sound sad. “And here we had come to present your father this gift, as a token of long-lived peace and friendship between kingdoms.”

He presented the shed scale, which cast its own delicate light upon the saddened beetle crowd.

“What is it?” the young Pharaoh asked, hesitantly reaching out to touch the scale.

“It is a piece of us,” the Pale King responded. “When we were larger, we were a mighty Wyrm. Our shell so long and grand it could span half a kingdom without stretching! This scale is from our cast-off shell and will glow with our light as long as we live—no matter what form we choose.”

He gingerly handed it to the Pharaoh. “Consider it a gift of good will, and of good fortune for your long and healthy rule to come.”

The young Pharaoh nodded, taking the scale. “I…We thank you, Pale King, for your generosity and understanding.”

* * *

That night, there was a royal feast in honor of the coronation of the new Pharaoh—Djehuti. The entire Rainbow Court was present, as was half the kingdom, and, of course, the Pale King. As well as, he had noticed, one awkward-looking Ogrim, standing off to the side of the grand hall they occupied.

He approached the dung beetle with little more than a passing fancy, opting to stare at a carving on the wall.

“Magnificent,” he said aloud, startling Ogrim. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Me?” came the hesitant reply.

“Of course,” the king said happily. For good measure, he dropped the royal ‘we’ once more. “You are the only one here to help me appreciate the beauty of these…pictures.”

Ogrim sputtered a moment. “Ah, well…Your Highness, it is an honor to speak with one so noble as you.”

“You have every right to. Are you not the personal guard of the Pharaoh?”

“Oh, well, I was,” the beetle admitted. “But since my master has perished so early in his life, I am of no more use. My mantle has been passed to Pharaoh Djehuti’s guard, Nhurim.”

There was a brief silence between them. Then, carefully, the Pale King asked, “How did this tragedy happen?”

Ogrim sighed. It was a mighty noise, almost like a sob erupting from the great chest of the dung beetle. “In his sleep. I could not defend against an enemy I could not see. It was so sudden! Almost as if a shadow had passed over him and choked him from the inside!”

“You saw it happen?”

“Barely,” Ogrim admitted. “It was just as I was making my final rounds of the night. It was so dark inside his room that night, all I could see was his shadow, flailing mere seconds before he…he lay still.”

The king placed his hand upon the beetle’s large shoulders, reaching almost impossibly high to do so. “It is truly a tragedy. What will you do now, without your Pharaoh?”

“I…I don’t know.” The beetle looked out into the crowd of bugs, who were all chatting and having a pleasant time despite the circumstances of the morning. “I thought I would maybe…maybe just join the castle guard. I’m still young. Maybe I would make a good trainer! I love sparring with the other bugs!”

The Pale King hummed in thought. “Well…you are free to choose your destiny now, are you not?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then—and you’ll forgive me for my forwardness, but—why don’t you join me?”

Ogrim gasped audibly. “You? Your Highness, I mean no disrespect! I…Wouldn’t one of the other guards be more suited to be one of your knights?”

The king waved off the concern. “Guards come and go. I am looking for a champion. A…defender, if you will. You were undyingly loyal to your Pharaoh, no matter what. Now, with him gone, you would rather pledge loyalty to a silly royal guard that gets less benefits than a cook or a maid? One that would be so easily susceptible to betrayal in the ranks, should a power shift occur?”

Before the beetle could voice his argument, the Pale King continued: “If you join me, you would be one of my Great Knights. One of only five in my court. You would not only be a constant and equal member of my court, you would have your own home, rights to marry any you so choose. You would be a general on the battlefield, not a foot soldier. You could even train some of my own armies, if you so choose. You would be known as Loyal Ogrim, a Great Knight of the Pale King!”

The dung beetle seemed to consider his words. He put a claw to his chin, thoughtfully and quietly humming. After a few minutes, Ogrim finally gave his answer.

“I will join you.”

* * *

There was little fanfare in Ogrim’s departure from Shabaka. The bugs had said soft goodbyes, mostly nodding in understanding. The only one who did anything more than a claw shake was Pharaoh Djehuti himself, who had run up to Ogrim and hugged him. He’d thanked the old guard for everything he’d done for the late Pharaoh, and if Ogrim ever returned, he would be welcome back with open arms.

The Pale King stayed silent throughout the whole affair.

When all was said and done, Ogrim joined the Pale King’s entourage with little more than a simple pack of food and water. And one opal; a gift from Djehuti to remind him of home.

It took a little over a week to reach the edge of Hallownest. Ogrim had asked how the Pale King had traveled so quickly the last time to get from Shabaka to Hallownest and back again in _under_ a week, but the king had merely waved off the question.

“My stags can travel much faster than this, as can my moulds. But you are mortal, dear Ogrim. I would not leave you behind, nor would I leave any of my Great Knights behind. Therefore, we go slower.”

The Pale King left open his curtains now that he was within his own borders. He had an image to uphold. His citizens flocked to his palanquin, bowing in respect. Some cheered for Ogrim, who introduced himself with grand gestures and loud bellows, already cementing a place in every bug’s hearts as a friendly knight.

When they reached the White Palace, the king had Ogrim introduced first to his queen, then the other four knights, and then to a smith, who would equip the dung beetle with armor.

“I cannot keep my linens?” Ogrim asked.

“Trust me,” Hegemol, the biggest of the knights, answered for the king. “Armor would do you well here. There are many foes that could split open your shell if you aren’t careful. It’s best to have protection.”

As Ogrim left to go get fitted, the king ordered a sentry bug to bring him Ogrim’s pack.

The only thing left inside was a maggot leg and the Shabaka opal. He pulled it out to inspect it.

“My, what a beautiful gem,” the White Lady—his beautiful queen—gasped softly. “Do you plan to wear it, my dear?”

The Pale King tilted his head, as if in thought. Then, he looked to his knights.

“Dispose of it,” he ordered. He tossed it in their general direction. Isma caught it, nearly fumbling as she did so. “That gem represents a loyalty no longer needed.”

With that, the Pale King left his throne room with his wife, uncaring of how Isma and the other knights disposed of the worthless gem. They all—except for Hegemol—had been forced to give up something precious from their home kingdoms. They did not need the distractions of former ties and beliefs. The sooner Ogrim gave his previous loyalty up, the easier he would obey the Pale King without question.

“Sentry,” the king called. “Bring me two retainers. I’m starving.”

**Author's Note:**

> After doing Ogrim, I can honestly say it would be a neat idea to see how PK recruited the other Knights.  
> Also, this all stemmed from two things:  
> 1) Hyenasaurus on tumblr with their one (1) drawing of Ogrim with pretty wings and Egyptian linens.  
> 2) The ever-popular for angst, "There is no war in Ba Sing Se" theme, which I wanted to include here, but couldn't fit in. Mayhaps a future story will involve that.


End file.
